I am wearing your black and red flannel shirt and frying bacon. You call from the back bedroom to be careful and to remind me that I'm not to save the grease this time - I'm an old southern girl and old habits are hard to break. After it's all done I set the pieces to dry on a paper towel. My fingertips are oily and salty to the taste. I cut the burner off and begin to get out the coffee cups when you come from behind and throw your arms around my waist, your hair still wet and apple fragranced from the shower.

You are wearing your robe but it is unbelted, your naked front pressing softly into my T-shirt clad back.

You turn me around and kiss me squarely on the mouth and then look at me for my reaction. You know perfectly how this will end. I kiss you in return and back you into the wall. The thin fabric between our breasts, our bellies, becomes unbearable.

I lift my arms and you pull the shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. Our bodies are touching and your robe is still open. We kiss.

I grab hold of your wrists, placing them above your head, with my deliciously firm grip, then bury my head in your neck and plant dry hot kisses atop your collar bone, going down the terrain of your form until my hands can no longer keeps yours against the wall.

I continue kissing your body, but now my kisses are open, wet. I suckle your honey-coloured nipples hungrily, my hands resting on your hips. I linger on your soft milk-white belly, breathing you in, teasing your navel with my tongue. I hear you stifle a moan and the sound is more than ample encouragement to continue downward.

I come to your curls and I take a moment to breathe in your fragrance, to memorize the way you look just before I begin to delve. Your hands are on my head, your eyes are closed, your back arched against the wall. I run my tongue across your outer labia, savouring the tiniest bit of wetness that has escaped. You give me a tiny moan.

I get as close as possible and ever-so-slightly spread you apart with my fingers. I can't hold back any longer, I lick you slowly, forcefully, from clit to vagina. I know what you want, but I'm not quite ready to comply.

I back away, and softly nibble your lips, then kiss your thighs. I can feel you tense, on the verge of aggravation, of desperation. I quickly return to kiss your cunt to satisfaction. Your hands atop my head, you are pushing me into you.

I use one hand to spread you apart, as I thrust the other's fingers inside you. Your wet walls excite me and I quickly touch my own cunt with the same hand so that our fluids might mingle. The thought is tantalizing.

I am hungry for your well, and I dive in. I wrap my tongue around your clit and rub your erection. Finally, I get the full-on moan from you that I woke up this morning craving. You're about to buckle from the sensation, so I pull back and circle your button with the very tip of my tongue. My fingers have returned to your pussy and I'm thrusting them in, hearing, feeling your wetness. I begin to flick my tongue across your clit and you match my rhythm with your own thrusting. I feel you clamp down on my fingers and I continue lapping you up. I can feel you cum and I prepare myself for the flood. My face is washed in your waters.

I rise and kiss you. It's too early to get up properly anyway.